'Tis summertime. The saxophone jazz
sounds are pirouetting the waves to find
a sense of balance. It is a mauve inner
dance in almost everything around. More
exactly, the melodious movable sounds
become those movements that start
sounding off to the winds while needing
a reverberation time to dissipate the energy.
'Tis a crusade that releases the own vow of chastity
to produce love for its offspring. These pulsed
sound waves keep also those memories of some
other hectic and transient seasons, which are lost
in that natural green being refreshed by a rehearsal.
The saxophone looks like a Tahitian prince dancing
his love in an exotic stagnant air. The singing mauve sea
is a bit too bitter for any taste at sunset. The last wave
is a watery mermaid and he embraces her while
thoroughly scrutinizing the high. The sounds
need touch and life. They need to dematerialize
and to disappear into the universe. The
saxophone remains a solitaire keeping
safe his evanescent hermetic equilibrium.
Poem by Marieta Maglas